


Lonely Together

by EmilyRose34



Category: Archie Comics & Related Fandoms, Riverdale (TV 2017)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Austria, Breakup, Christmas, F/M, Music, Soup kitchen, Vienna, exchange student!betty, pianist!jughead
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-12-25
Updated: 2020-01-26
Packaged: 2021-02-26 01:07:40
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 9,446
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21944851
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/EmilyRose34/pseuds/EmilyRose34
Summary: Betty is an exchange student studying in Vienna with no chance of getting home for the holidays. She’s looking for someone to make Christmas a little bit less lonely. Could a dark-haired pianist with the mischievous smile be the answer? (Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones fic for Riverdale Reindeer Games 2019)
Relationships: Archie Andrews/Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper & Veronica Lodge, Betty Cooper/Jughead Jones, Cheryl Blossom/Toni Topaz
Comments: 14
Kudos: 72
Collections: 6th Bughead Fanfiction Awards - Nominees, Bughead Secret Santa, Home for the HoliDale





	1. Part One

**Author's Note:**

  * For [PrinceSweetPea](https://archiveofourown.org/users/PrinceSweetPea/gifts).



> Bughead Secret Santa present for PrinceSweetPea  
> Written for Riverdale Reindeer Games 2019  
> Prompt: BLITZEN (Holidays)

I can’t believe I ever used to like Christmas.

As I haul out yet another heavy stack of bowls, I mull over all the things I’d rather be doing than helping out here. Cleaning my oven. Conjugating irregular verbs. Swimming with sharks.

I hear the squeak of high heels against the church floor, and mentally prepare myself to get told off.

Cheryl surveys my table with a critical eye. She’s wearing a cloud-like white sweater, which doesn’t seem all that practical for helping out at a food bank. Though I guess that’s the difference – Cheryl isn’t ‘helping out’. She’s running it.

“Ready for curtain up?” she says.

I deposit the last set of bowls by the stainless steel soup pot. “Yes, Cheryl. Good to go.”

The redhead fastidiously nudges the stacks of crockery into a neater arrangement. “Make sure you hand out a napkin with every bowl. And could you put a smile on, Betty? The homeless have depressing enough lives without looking at your miserable face.”

I smile wordlessly and, instead of pouring vegetable soup over her white sweater, I just stir it meekly. Cheryl seems to take the gesture as a sign of obedience, because she leaves me and clip clops across the church hall in search of other volunteers to torment.

Why did I sign up to help out at the food bank in the first place? When Cheryl cornered me after our German Romanticism lecture, I’d said yes, mostly with the vague idea that doing something for charity over Christmas would be a nice gesture. I couldn’t go back home to America over the holiday for various reasons, and because I’d only been living in Vienna for a couple of months I hadn’t had the chance to make many friends here. As I didn’t have any plans, why not spend Christmas Eve here, helping the people who need it the most? I might even make some friends among the other volunteers.

Obviously, I had underestimated how annoying Cheryl could be, even when she was doing something that was actually a net positive for the world.

Cheryl claps her hands to get our attention. “Alright everyone, I’m going to open the doors so I want you all ready to give our guests some service with a smile. _Do not_ embarrass me.”

She glances pointedly in my direction before going to open the doors.

I obediently ladle out my first bowl of soup, and grab a napkin before Cheryl can tell me off for forgetting it. A couple of tall men wrapped in thick coats shuffle over to me, and I hand over the food. Somehow, I locate the vacant ‘customer service smile’ that I perfected while working at Riverdale’s diner during the summer vacations.

Cheryl’s girlfriend, Toni, has arrived and gone over to greet the redhead, slipping her arm around Cheryl’s waist. Never shy about PDA, the two whisper together, their lips almost touching. It had been four months since Archie and I had split up and I still couldn’t look at a happy couple without feeling a twist in my stomach.

And now I was thinking about Archie again. Brilliant. I stir the soup and adjust the pile of bowls, waiting for the next homeless people to arrive. But after serving a couple more, there was nothing to do again. I found myself taking out my mobile to check Archie’s socials, whilst simultaneously hating myself for doing it.

However, to be clear I definitely wasn’t scouring his photos and updates for some sign that he was missing me, that he’d realised splitting up was the worst idea that he’d ever had. It would be delusional to expect that. No one, no matter how awful their lives really were, ever wanted to come across as needy or even just less-than-perfect on social media. No, all I was trying to do was check that he was ok.

Which, according to Archie’s sparse social media feed, he was. None of the pictures were surprising: him and the team celebrating after a match, Archie drinking milkshakes at Pop’s and a few snaps of him playing his guitar at open mic nights. He is doing the same things that he has always done. The only difference is that I’m not there with him.

“Hi?”

Another homeless man has arrived. I slip my phone into the pocket of my plaid skirt and turn my attention to him. The guy is younger than most of the rest of them, with a clean, pale face and an abundance of thick, dark hair half-hidden by a knit hat. He couldn’t be much older than me.

“Is this the Christmas soup kitchen thing?” he says.

“Sorry,” I hurriedly ladle out another bowl. “Here you go. And merry Christmas.”

He doesn’t take the bowl from me. Instead he shoots me a quizzical look. “I don’t-”

He’s interrupted by Toni, who calls from over on the other side of the room. “Jughead!”

The way Toni barrels over and slings an arm around his shoulders makes me assume they are friends. Cheryl follows, a pained smile on her face.

“You were supposed to be here half an hour ago, Jughead,” she says, her voice somehow both pleasant and threatening.

Wait. This guy’s _name_ is Jughead?

“Twenty minutes,” the guy who is apparently called Jughead answers. “My train was delayed because of the snow.”

“The piano’s over there,” says Cheryl, a little snappily.

“Yes, ma’am,” Jughead performs a little mock-salute. “But I think this lady was kindly going to feed me first.”

He shoots me a quick grin. My whole face has turned pink. I just implied that I thought Toni’s friend was homeless.

“Food is for people in need, which you are not,” says Cheryl, bundling Jughead over to the piano.

Toni and I are left standing together by the soup, so I feel like I need to make conversation.

“So Jughead’s a pianist?”

“Yeah, I know him from the Academy of Music. I told Cheryl we could just get a playlist of basic Christmas songs but apparently that’s not _good enough_ for her,” Toni rolls her eyes affectionately.

Jughead starts playing something, which after a few moments I realise I recognise from _The Nutcracker_ ballet. The music he coaxes from the battered upright piano is extraordinary, an endless rolling wave of notes which rise and fall like a living thing.

“He’s incredible,” I say to Toni, realising too late how loudly I spoke.

Jughead glances over again, but I quickly turn to Toni to avoid looking him in the eyes. I’ve already had more than enough embarrassment for one day.

“Yeah, annoying isn’t he?” says Toni, smiling at her friend. “Everyone at the Academy basically hates him, he’s so good.”

I feel a judder against my thigh. It’s my phone, buzzing impatiently. Someone’s trying to reach me. Perhaps my mom has snuck her cell into her ‘silent retreat’... I look at the screen. Archie Andrews is trying to FaceTime me. I almost drop the phone into the soup.

“Are you ok?” asks Toni.

“Yeah, I’m fine,” I say, and it’s unconvincing even to my own ears. “Would you be able to cover me for five minutes? Please?”

I flee into the kitchen, holding the phone to my chest. He wants to get back together. No, that can’t be it. He must just be calling to wish me a merry Christmas or something. I check my blonde ponytail is neat in the reflective surface of the metal fridge before I answer.

“Hi?” I say, not sure if I should seem happy or aloof, and end up sounding a little confused. Archie’s familiar face lights up the screen. My heart hurts to see him, but I try to smile. We haven’t spoken since the breakup. It feels strange but somehow not strange at all to be talking to him again.

“Betty. How you doing?”

“Really good, thanks.”

“How is Vienna?”

“It’s amazing, everything I imagined it would be.”

Archie smiles the broad, relaxed smile which is so familiar to me, the one that gives him small quotation marks on either side of his mouth. Neither of us mention the fact that my decision to study abroad in Austria was the reason that Archie wanted to break up.

“That’s great. Listen Betty, I have to be quick - I just wanted to say...”

Archie pauses, clearly nervous and unsure of how to start. He’s going to ask me to get back together. I wait, smiling patiently. But when he finally does speak, the words that come aren’t the right ones. I struggle to make any sense out of them.

“I wanted you to hear from me that Veronica and I have started going out.”

My best friend. He’s dating my best friend, and I had no idea. It had never even occurred to me that the two of them could be interested in each other.

“It only just happened,” says Archie, and I can tell he’s embarrassed about it because he’s already on the defensive. “I asked her out yesterday... so yeah. I just wanted to let you know.”

Yesterday. While I was working on my German composition he had been asking my best friend to go out with him. Kissing her, probably.

“Betty?” Archie’s brow crinkles and I realise that he’s waiting for a response.

I panic, and end up sounding bored when I speak. “Cool. You didn’t have to tell me, but...congratulations? I guess?”

“Thanks, Betty.”

“I have to go – I’m supposed to be helping out a friend. But it was really nice to hear from you,” I say, without taking a breath. “Speak soon?”

“Yeah, of course. Merry Christmas.”

I end the call just in time before I start crying.

How could he do this to me? How could _she_ do this to me? Archie and I grew up alongside each other. We have basically been going out our whole lives. I wasn’t over him. I never would be over him. And Veronica knew that.

At that point, someone bursts into the kitchen. I turn away quickly and try to hold my sobs in.

“Ah...sorry.” It’s Jughead.

“It’s ok.” I snuffle.

“I was looking for the toilet. Sorry. I wasn’t trying to...are you alright?”

I reluctantly turn back around. I probably look terrible.

“Yes,” I shrug. “Well, you know...”

“Anything you’d like to rant about to a relative stranger?”

I find I’m smiling, despite myself. “It’s not really that interesting.”

Jughead jumps up onto one of the kitchen countertops and folds his arms. “Go on. I reckon I have about five minutes before Cheryl hauls me back to the piano.”

I’m not usually the sort of person who spills her heart to strangers, but for some reason, today I am. Something about this guy’s open expression makes me feel like he’s not going to hold it against me. “I just got a call from my ex-boyfriend.”

“Not good news?”

I grab some kitchen roll and dab my eyes with it. “He - he told me that he’s...”

“Is he going out with someone else?”

“Yeah. My best friend from school.”

“Right,” Jughead folds his arms in a way that seems thoughtful rather than hostile. “And how do you feel about that?”

“Well, you know...” I start shredding the kitchen roll in my fingers. “They haven’t done anything wrong. It’s not like stuff was happening while Archie and I were together and now... well, we’re broken up. He can do what he wants.”

“You’re still allowed to be annoyed about it.”

“I don’t think I’d mind as much if I were back home, with my friends at Yale. I’m in Austria on my year abroad, and... well, you know... I’ve only been here for a couple of months so I haven’t had a chance to make that many friends. So it makes me miss Archie more.”

Even as I say it, I know it’s not true. I’d miss Archie however many friends I’d made here. But if I had a wider social circle here at least I’d have someone to sit on the sofa with and eat chocolate.

“What are you studying?” says Jughead, nimbly sliding off the kitchen counter.

“Languages. French and German – same course as Cheryl. That’s how we know each other.”

Jughead leans against the fridge next to me. I get the feeling he’s a guy who never stays in the same position for long.

“Why aren’t you back home for Christmas?”

“Oh, you know...” I prevaricate. “It was just kind of tricky with timings and... well, my family’s a bit of a mess at the moment.”

Jughead looks down and his coal-coloured hair falls over his eyes. “Sorry. I’m interrogating you.”

“It’s fine. I’ve not really had anyone to talk to since term ended,” I admit.

Jughead looks like he’s going to say something, but before he can get the words out Cheryl sticks her head through the door. She scowls when she sees the two of us together.

“What are you two doing? There’s a load of guests out there eating with absolutely no musical accompaniment.”

I feel myself instinctively shrink away from Cheryl’s wrath, but Jughead turns, cheerfully unphased. “I was just looking for the toilet. Or are bathroom breaks not allowed now?”

“Through there,” says Cheryl, indicating the right door.

Once Jughead has left, the redhead turns to me, eyebrow raised. “You have mascara all down your face.”

*** * ***

Back in the main hall, I try to block out any thoughts of Archie or Veronica and focus on getting through the rest of my shift with a smile. But it’s impossible to ignore the drama which is developing on the other side of the hall. Clearly dissatisfied by Jughead’s programme for the evening, which consists mostly of Tchaikovsky and I think Strauss, Cheryl was currently ‘having a word’ with the dark-haired boy.

“Can’t you play something a bit more festive?” she hisses.

Jughead, who is currently partway through the _Sugar Plum pas de deux_ , responds without missing a note. “What’s more festive than _The Nutcracker_?”

“Something that people have actually heard of. Something recent.”

Jughead stops playing mid-stanza. He casts a mischievous smile in my direction, and I smile back, feeling like I’m part of a conspiracy. Then he begins a new piece. The notes, when they come, have a haunting and discordant feel.

“What are you doing?” says Cheryl.

“Playing the soundtrack from _Die Hard_ ,” replies Jughead. “I thought you said you wanted something more modern.”

“And festive!”

“ _Die Hard_ is festive,” he says. “It takes place on Christmas Eve.”

Cheryl leans close to him and speaks in a low, threatening voice like she’s in _The Godfather_. “Play some Christmas songs or I’ll slam the piano lid on your hands and break all eight of your fingers.”

I would have been absolutely terrified at this point, but Jughead just shrugs. He turns to me and shouts across the room.

“Hey Betty! What’s your favourite Christmas song?”

“Um – _Let it Snow_?” I say.

Jughead finds the appropriate sheet music and starts playing. He gives Cheryl an overly cheery grin. She sighs, and huffs over to Toni with a flick of her almost waist length hair.

Jughead looks at me and shrugs, “You can’t please everyone!”

I smile and shake my head in mock exasperation. The way that Jughead keeps glancing over in my direction makes me feel like he’s staging this whole routine to make me laugh. Which he’s not, of course. He’s just doing it to wind Cheryl up.

*** * ***

“Can I help with anything?”

I look up from the now-washed plastic spoons that I’m putting back in the cutlery drawer. Jughead is standing in front of me, his hands deep in the pockets of his black denim jacket.

“I’m basically finished, but thank you,” I say, grabbing another handful of spoons.

I expect Jughead will just wander off, but he doesn’t. Instead, he leans against the countertop and watches me work. Perhaps he’s worried that if he returns to the main hall Cheryl will give him another clean-up job to do.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” I say, trying to smile in a way that conveys that what happened was mildly embarrassing rather than soul-crushingly devastating. “It was...you caught me at a bad moment.”

“You’ve got a right to be upset about it.”

“I was...Archie and I broke up months ago. I’m not – I just wasn't expecting to get a call from him.”

Jughead looks at me with eyes that seem to hover between green and grey. His clear, direct gaze tells me that he’s not fooled by my faux-casual attitude. I decide to change the subject.

“So you’re staying in Vienna for Christmas then?”

“Yeah.”

“Where are your family based?” I ask.

“Dad lives in this village in the Danube Valley.”

"Oh right." I assumed his family would be in Vienna too. "So you're round with friends then?"

“Christmas is just another day on the calendar. I don’t see what all the fuss is about.”

Something about his tone makes me not want to push any further, so I don’t respond. The two of us are silent as I put away the last of the cutlery and wipe down the sink. We walk back into the main hall, where Cheryl is standing with Toni.

“Thanks for all your hard work,” she says, her voice noticeably frosty. “Have a good Christmas.”

As we walk outside, we’re hit by the frosty air. There’s a light sprinkling of snow in the air, joining the thicker snowfall from last night crunching beneath our feet.

I pull my light grey coat tight around me. “I forgot how cold it was.”

“You should get a hat,” says Jughead. “It’s impossible to get cold if you’re wearing a hat. Ask any scientist.”

We share another smile. Is he going to kiss me? Or at least ask me for my number?

“Well...” he says, then there’s a long pause. “See you around?”

And the moment’s over and perhaps I imagined it, or perhaps he just isn’t sure of what to say. All I know is that it’s Christmas Eve, and I’m scared to go back to my cold, dark flat and sit alone, knowing that on the other side of the world my best friend and first love are probably cosying up by the fire.

“Jughead?”

He swings back around. Is it just my imagination or does he look expectant and maybe even hopeful?

“Betty?”

“I was just wondering... would you maybe...?” This is not going well. I’m already regretting asking and I haven’t even finished my sentence yet. “I just thought, if you’re not busy, whether you’d maybe like to go hang out a bit, get a drink or something?”

“Will you let me show you the sights?” Jughead grins, “As a native Austrian, I’d be more than happy to be your tour guide.”

He hasn’t told me that he’d rather hang out with a man-eating tiger than spend Christmas Eve with a freak like me. That’s a relief.

“I don’t want to take up a load of your time if you’ve got somewhere else to be, and I know that we don’t really _know_ each other but... This time of year is great for making you feel really, really lonely and...”

“Don’t worry, Betty,” says Jughead. “Tonight we can be lonely together.”

_**Part Two coming soon** _


	2. Part Two

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Jughead takes Betty on a tour of Vienna.  
> \----

“Are you going to tell me where we’re going?” I ask.

Jughead, who has been leading the way to who knows where, swings back around, grinning. “Are you always this impatient?”

“I was just curious...”

“I’m trying to build the anticipation. Hope you haven’t already visited it, because that’d make all this a huge waste of time.”

I navigate my way around a mound of snow. “That’s probably not a problem. I’ve done a couple of the big museums but not much else. Yet. I’ve been so busy with uni work.”

_Why don’t you just tell him that you’re a loser with no social life while you’re at it, Betty? You’ve already pretty heavily implied it._

“Well then, quit complaining,” says Jughead, a lopsided smile on his face. “And soak up the atmosphere.”

There’s certainly no shortage of atmosphere in Vienna’s streets on the night before Christmas. This is a city of harmony and soft colours, with touches of ornate decoration. During the day, everything is in primrose yellow, blush pink and cream, like it’s the set for a Wes Anderson film. At night, the streets don’t seem to get truly dark. Instead, all the facades and statues are cast in a soft blue wash, only interrupted by the gentle glow from the shop windows.

“Alright, Betty,” says Jughead. “I hope you’re ready to feel the Christmas spirit.”

He leads me around the corner and into a square which is filled with a Christmas market, packed with stalls. Despite the cold, it’s a blaze of light and music. And it’s busy, with couples snuggling for warmth while families enjoy the rides and kids weave in between their parents’ legs.

I look about me, trying to take everything in. “Oh, wow...where should we start?”

“Food first,” says Jughead firmly, steering me in the direction of a waffle stall. “I refuse to take part in any Christmas festivities until I’ve eaten.”

I ask for a waffle with chocolate sauce, and Jughead orders one piled high with toppings. He grins when he sees my horrified face.

“That’s obscene,” I smile. “What have you got on it?”

“Everything,” says Jughead, as he begins to hoover the food off his plate. “Blueberries, chocolate chips, strawberries, whipped cream, ice cream...”

I shake my head. “I’m sorry, but I can’t endorse putting whipped cream _and_ ice cream on a waffle.”

“Why not?”

“Ever heard the expression ‘gilding the lily’?”

“No, but I learned English by watching _The Wire,_ so...”

I realise I haven’t even made a start on my waffle, so I quickly take a bite. It’s the perfect mix of sugar and melt-on-your-tongue crispiness.

“Worth the walk, huh?” Jughead smiles.

“Definitely.”

“Last winter, my little sister and I visited all the markets in central Vienna and this one came out top.”

“That’s high praise.”

It’s strange. He’s must be close to his sister... so why isn’t he going home for Christmas, especially when it’s such an easy trip? I know it’s not really my business, but I can’t help feeling a little curious.

A phone is buzzing. I realise that it’s mine, and quickly pull it out of my coat pocket. It’s Veronica. I don’t answer it.

As soon as it stops ringing, a message from her pops up onscreen.

_B, I’m so sorry about today. Archie insisted that he wanted to tell you himself. Please talk to me? xo_

I shove my phone back into my pocket without replying. The last thing I want to do is fall out with my best friend over some guy, but Archie isn’t just ‘some guy’. He’s been my boyfriend for years. We basically dated since we were kids, longer than I’ve been friends with Veronica. And she knows that.

“Fancy a wander?” I ask Jughead. Anything to distract me from my own life.

The conversation bounces easily between us as we drift from stall to stall. We talk about safe things: what I think about Vienna, his classes, American TV shows and German literature. I keep expecting the conversation between us to dry up, but it never does.

“Would you like a ride on the...” Jughead searches for the right word. “Roundabout?”

“Merry-go-round?” I smile.

“Merry-go-round,” he says. “That’s it. I must remember...”

“Honestly, your English is so much better than my German, and I’m doing a degree in it.”

“Well, would you like to? Or is that a bit kiddy?”

Normally I’d say no, but tonight I don’t want to say no to anything. On board the carousel, there’s an odd assortment of animals, including a rooster and a pair of ferocious-looking swans. I hop onto a white horse, and Jughead jumps astride the reddish-brown mount next to mine.

“I hope the swans don’t come to life and eat us,” he says.

Then we both go quiet, and I realise that Jughead is _looking_ at me again, in a way that insists I meet his gaze. He really is beautiful, with his straight, decisive brows and shell pink lips. I don’t know why Jughead would look at me like that unless he wanted to kiss me, and honestly who would want to kiss some girl they found crying over their ex only four hours before?

At that moment, the ride starts moving, blasting the overly cheery sounds of fairground music at top volume. Jughead, who isn’t holding onto the pole, almost slides off the rump of his horse. He saves himself at the very last moment by grabbing the mane of his mount. I almost die laughing.

“Stop it,” he says.

I put my gloved hand over my mouth, but the harder I try not to laugh the more I giggle. Whatever moment there might have been between us has been broken. That is if I didn’t just imagine it in the first place.

Jughead gives me a light, playful shove. “I could have been seriously injured.”

“If you’d actually been _seriously_ injured, I wouldn’t be laughing.”

“You should be nice to me. I might have internal bleeding.”

We bob up and down as we swing around the carousel, in such a way that whenever I’m high then he sinks low and vice versa. My mount pulls me upwards, and without warning, he stands in his stirrups and plants a quick kiss on my lips. We look at each other, and I think he’s as surprised as I am by what he did.

When the merry-go-round stops spinning, he helps me off my horse like we’re in a Jane Austen novel. I assume it’s an excuse to hold my hand, but he lets go almost immediately as we wander back in the direction of the stalls. Worried that he’s about to suggest calling it a night, I start asking him about his music. Surely it’s a topic he won’t get bored of easily?

“Do you play any other instruments aside from the piano?”

“I’m pretty decent on the oboe, and I can struggle through _Wonderwall_ on the acoustic guitar. Though I mostly learned that to try and impress girls at parties. Wasn’t all that effective, but you know...”

“But the piano is your – um – speciality?”

“That’s the idea. And you’re studying languages at the university with Cheryl, aren’t you?”

“Yeah, German and French.”

“Have you decided what you’re going to do after uni, or is that not a good question to ask at the moment?”

“The dream is eventually to become a translator, you know? And work on fiction books, but obviously that’s really competitive so I guess I might end up somewhere like the UN instead.”

I had to turn the conversation back to Jughead. After all, as my mother says, no one really wants to listen when they meet a stranger. They actually just want to talk about themselves.

“So, who are your favourite composers?” I ask.

“I guess... to give you totally arbitrary answers: Franz Liszt, Chopin. And I suppose I should say Mozart, as we’re in Vienna, or someone might jump out from behind a fountain and threaten my life.”

I realise too late that it was a bad question to ask because I know pretty much nothing about music, which he is probably going to figure out straight away. “That’s...great.”

“You don’t know who any of those people are, do you?”

“Well.... I mean I recognise the names.” Some of them. “But I’m not really a music buff. I’m sure I’d know the music if you played it.”

Jughead stops walking abruptly. “You are aware that you’re in Vienna, the city of music, right?”

“Well...yes.”

“There’s Strauss waltzes pouring out of every window, and you can’t walk past a street corner without seeing a statue of Mozart.”

“Alright, yes – I’ve been meaning to-”

“Betty, you’ve been in Vienna for five months -”

“Four.”

“- And you haven’t been to any Christmas markets or classical concerts. Not to be judgemental, but do you really feel like you’re making the most of your time here?”

We both look at each other, and I wonder if he’s going to kiss me again, but he doesn’t. Perhaps he didn’t enjoy the first attempt.

I shove my hands in my pockets to stop myself from fiddling with the strap of my bag. It’s a nervous habit that I’m trying to break. “Some of us are trying to do a degree.”

And that’s not a lie. I am at the library all hours working on essays and compositions for my classes. But if I’m being completely honest, I would probably find more time to do cultural things if I had people to do them _with._

“Sure, but I think some would argue that you’re not just here to learn about grammar and vocab, but also to absorb the culture. Still, you know...” Jughead shrugs in a way that says he thinks it’s not really his business.

By this point, we had reached the end of the row of stalls. There’s now literally nowhere else for us to go. We look at each other, and I’m about to start finding a way to say goodbye, when Jughead speaks again.

“My flat isn’t far from here. If you wanted to come over – listen to some music, you know... Well, you’d be welcome.”

There are a million reasons why I should say no, but tonight I don’t want to be alone and that’s all I care about.

I put my hand in his. “Which way are we heading?”

* * *

Jughead’s flat, which he shares with another student at the Academy, is on the fourth floor of a tall Eighteenth Century building. I imagine it was probably once owned by a magnificent family, until they fell on hard times and had to sell up. The stairs and inner courtyard carry the faint scent of neglect, but Jughead’s flat itself is tidier than I expected. The main room has a kitchen on one side, and a sitting room on the other, filled with stacks of dog-eared paperbacks, a lop-sided couch and an electric piano.

“Are you a fan of hot chocolate?” he asks.

“Isn’t everyone?”

Jughead opens a kitchen cupboard. “I think my flatmate has some I can steal.”

I sit on the sofa, and try to read the spines on his bookshelf in the half-light from the kitchen, until Jughead emerges with two mugs. He hands one to me and sits on the couch, close but without touching.

“I’ve been wondering Betty...” his voice fades.

“Yeah?”

“What’s the real reason you didn’t go home for Christmas? I have to ask.”

In the darkened room, it’s easier to admit the truth.

“My parents got divorced this year. It’s been a bit of a nightmare.”

“So you didn’t want to go home and get stuck in the middle?”

“Well, it’s not... I’m very much Team Alice – on my mom’s side. But after everything... I don’t think she could face Christmas and trying to play Happy Families after such a miserable year. So she decided to go on one of those silent retreats instead over the holidays.”

“Silent retreats?”

“Yeah, you know, you stay in a big house in the country with a load of other rich divorcées and do yoga and detoxify, that sort of thing. No talking, mobiles or Wi-Fi.”

“Sounds like torture. How is she getting on?”

“I don’t know. She’s not allowed to use her phone.”

“Yeah, but no one actually follows those rules, right?”

“Apparently, my mom does.” Thinking about anything to do with my parents, and their long, bitter, messy separation, makes the back of my neck prickle, so I try to move the conversation onto something else. “So, are you going to continue my musical education?”

Jughead pulls a face. “Education? You make it sound like I’ve been lecturing at you – which I’ve been trying very hard not to do.”

“No! That’s not what I meant. I’m sorry,” I stir my hot chocolate to give me something to do. “But I guess I’m just curious – I’d love to hear you play something.”

Jughead smiles, and I can see that despite himself he’s pretty flattered. “Well, Fräulein Betty, never let it be said that I refused a request of yours.”

He gets up and dramatically sweeps the clutter off the piano stool before sitting down in front of the keyboard. I find myself laughing.

“What do you want to hear? A little Mozart? Strauss?”

“I don’t know. What’s your favourite piece of music?”

“Impossible. You can’t ask me questions like that.”

“Well, what’s your favourite piece by Liszt?” I say, plucking the first composer I can remember him naming.

Jughead thinks for a moment, then puts his hands on the cream-coloured keys and starts playing. The music is extraordinary, rising from the piano like a living, breathing animal. While I listen, I feel my phone vibrate in my pocket. It’s Veronica, _again._ Another effusive message about how important our friendship is and how she never meant to hurt me. I put my phone away, and go to stand by the piano. Jughead isn’t looking at me. He is completely absorbed in the rolling, tumbling, cascading notes which beat like the tide against the shore.

There is so much longing and yet so much pain in the notes, which demand to be listened to. More than that, it is like the wistful music is soaking into my pores. Look at me. It’s Christmas Eve and no one wants to me with them, apart from a stranger. My childhood sweetheart doesn’t love me, my mom doesn’t care and my best friend, like usual, is thinking only about herself.

I force myself not to cry. Self-pity isn’t an attractive look on anyone. I focus on the music, listening quietly until the notes drain away and there’s only silence between us.

Jughead rests his chin on his hands. “There you go. It’s called _A sigh._ Early Christmas present. It was my mum’s favourite piece of music. And most of the time it’s mine.”

“Your mom-”

“She’s dead. She died when I was twelve.”

“Oh,” I have no idea what to say. “I’m so sorry.”

Jughead shrugs, but doesn’t look me in the eye. “It was nobody’s fault.”

“I guess that explains why you’re not into Christmas.”

“Normally I’m willing to go along with it, because of my sister. But after what dad did this year, the idea of going home...”

“What did he do?”

Jughead gets to his feet abruptly and goes to the window. I regret asking the question, and am trying to find something to say when he starts speaking. “He got remarried. My sister likes her – she’s just a kid. Barely remembers mum. But I do.”

There’s a pause. I don’t know what to say.

“Sorry,” Jughead smiles ruefully. “What’s wrong with me? I’m not usually the oversharing type.”

He starts to draw the curtains, but then stops abruptly.

“It’s snowing again,” he says.

I join him at the window. It’s dark, but I can vaguely make out the ghostly scattering of snow over the rooftops. I pretend to admire the view of Vienna, but all I can think about is how close together the two of us are. We’re not touching, but we could be.

The clock on the kitchen countertop beeps as it flicks over to 00:00. Midnight. It’s officially Christmas Day.

Jughead looks at me. His face is half in shadows, but I don’t need to be able to see his eyes to know what he’s about to do. He gently tilts my face upwards, and plants a single soft kiss on my mouth. Then he looks at me with his head tilted at an angle.

“Was that ok?” he asks.

“Yes.”

“Don’t give much away, do you?”

I take a shaky breath. My chest feels tight with nerves, or perhaps it’s something else. I don’t know what to say, so I do the only thing I can think of. I kiss him back. His mouth is warm, and still tastes of hot chocolate. We’re both hesitant as we kiss, as if we’re not quite sure if we’re doing it right. Maybe I’m not. Archie is the only boy I’ve ever kissed, unless you count playing Spin the Bottle when I was thirteen, which I don’t.

But Jughead is nothing like Archie, and his kisses are soft but searching. We end up on the thick rug in front of the sofa, a tangle of limbs.

Jughead, who is underneath me, props himself up on his elbow. He has the edge of my sweater in his hand. “You want help taking this off?”

My throat is dry, so I just nod. He pulls it off over my head, careful not to snag it on my ponytail. I think perhaps I want to spend the rest of my life being looked at the way he is looking at me now, with his warm but almost puzzled expression. It’s as if he can’t quite believe that I’m here, now, with him. I can’t quite believe it either. Twelve hours ago I didn’t know that Jughead Jones existed, and now here I am lying with him on an old rug.

I lean down and initiate another kiss. It’s good to be with him, have his bare skin pressed against me. This is really happening, but I don’t feel prepared. It’s like a test that I haven’t studied for. Nothing like this happened with Archie. We had been going out for years before... What happens if Jughead expects something different from me? Or if he doesn’t like the way I look?

I tell myself to ignore my worries and concentrate on what is happening now. I focus on the feeling of him undoing my ponytail, spreading his hands through my hair. He murmurs ‘Rapunzel’ in my ear, as he kisses and nips a line down my neck. And I want to correct him – my hair isn’t nearly long enough – but then I forget all about it.

He sits up, one hand on my back to anchor me firmly against him. I sit in his lap, my legs on either side of his torso. I have never wanted anyone the way I want him at the moment, but that doesn’t stop the unsettled feeling brewing inside my stomach. It’s like negotiating a steep, winding staircase without a handrail. This feeling, this wanting, might not be real. Maybe I’m just kidding myself because I don’t want to feel lonely.

Jughead looks at me. “Betty?”

“Yes?” I whisper.

“Are you sure about this?”

There’s a long pause. I want to say yes. Desperately. I want to forget that I’m alone this Christmas, forget the complicated situation with my family, Archie and Veronica. But I can’t.

“I’m sorry,” I say.

Jughead breathes in deeply. “Don’t worry about it.”

“I don’t know why I... I wasn’t thinking. I’m sorry.” I babble.

“No, you’re probably right,” he tries to smile. “There’s probably rules against having sex on Christmas Day in the Bible.”

“I didn’t-”

“Would it be ok if you stopped – um – sitting on me though?”

“Oh. Of course. Sorry.” I manoeuvre myself so I’m next to him on the rug.

Jughead stiffly adjusts his position, bending his legs and resting his arms on his knees.

There’s a long, embarrassing pause which makes me wish that I’d never met this boy, never come to Vienna.

“Do you want a drink or anything?” he says.

I grab my sweater and hug it to my chest. “Um, I think I should be getting back...”

“Ok, sure.”

I follow him to the door. He’s looking at me, but I try to pretend I’m busy with my jumper and my purse. He probably thinks I’m a complete weirdo.

As Jughead fiddles with the latch, he says, “Do you know your way back?”

“Yes, I’m fine.” My words come out more curtly than I’d intended.

I risk a glance up at him. A strand of dark hair has fallen over his eyes. I wish I could push it back, smooth down his ruffled locks. I shouldn’t have stopped him. If he said something now, I’d happily go back and lie with him on the rug for however long he wanted. But he just leans against the door, saying nothing. He probably can’t wait to get rid of me.

“Thanks for having me over.”

“My pleasure.”

Then somehow we end up sharing the most awkward, forced hug in the history of the world.

“See you around,” he says.

I’m about to walk out the door, but on impulse I turn back. “I... this is completely unsolicited advice, and I don’t really know you or your family situation, but if I were you I’d call my dad today. Maybe he isn’t perfect, but sometimes an imperfect family is better than none at all. Sorry. I know you probably don’t want or need my opinion, but... there you go...”

Jughead stares at me, stunned. I don’t know what else to say, so I turn around and bolt down the stairs.


	3. Part Three

The period between Christmas and New Year’s seemed to stretch on forever. Initially, I try to be a little bit festive. I had bought myself a couple of books and a skirt as Christmas presents for myself, to make up for the lack of gifts from mom. But when I woke up on Christmas Day and saw the tiny heap of parcels by my bed, I realised how pathetic the whole idea had been.

I didn’t have the energy to cook, so I heated up some mac and cheese and then curled up on the couch to watch a movie _._ I picked _Titanic_ , partly because it was epically long and would take up more of the day, and partly because I hoped watching loads of people die horrifically would put my own problems into perspective. It didn’t.

All I could think while I watched dozens of extras pretending to freeze to death was that I’d chosen to be lonely. I could be with someone right now, if I hadn’t acted so stupidly. Jughead and I hadn’t exchanged contact details, but even so I kept composing messages to him in my head that I could send, casually but oh so coolly asking him about his Christmas.

Not that there was any point really. He hadn’t actually liked me – no one liked girls who reeked of desperation. And anyway, even if he had liked me in the moment, that didn’t mean it would have worked out. We didn’t even know each other. Just because a boy had a nice smile and some quick-witted banter, that didn’t mean he was boyfriend material.

I didn’t get a call or even an email from my mother. It wasn’t that I was surprised – mom’s retreat lasted until after New Year’s – but it would have been a nice gesture if she could have broken the rules for one day. I felt bad for wanting it, considering how difficult this year had been for her. It seemed selfish to distract her while she was going through the process of healing. But an email would have been nice.

On the 26th, I gave up all attempts at being festive and acted like it was any other day. I worked on my set texts for next term, revised some grammar and reorganized the kitchen cupboards. And just like that, Christmas is over and I’m back to the rest of my life.

* * *

The tram carriage is filled with a motley group of passengers, most dolled up like I am and semi- to _very_ inebriated. The typical New Year’s Eve crowd, in other words. As the city passes by, I pull out my compact and apply a fresh coat of lip gloss. I hope I look good enough. Kevin, the friend who’s hosting this party, has pretty strong feelings when it comes to dress code. Hoping to meet his high standards, I went above and beyond: curled my hair, wore heels and put on my ‘special event dress’ for the first time since coming to Vienna. It’s an almost silver, almost blue lace dress with a sweetheart neckline. Nothing very eye-catching, but hopefully enough to stop me getting turned away at the door.

As the tram goes past one of the university buildings, I remind myself of how much I’m looking forward to the party and being with my friends. I’m going to enjoy myself, ring in the New Year and then when we’ve finished singing _Auld Lang Syne_ I’m going to excuse myself and go home to bed.

As I look out of the window, I see that we’re about to pass Madensky Square. It’s Jughead’s stop. I could jump out now, if I wanted. Well...I could, if I felt like embarrassing myself, and probably completely freaking him out.

The tram shuddered to a halt and a couple of people get on. They’re students, partygoers, probably heading into town for the celebrations. I stand where I am and don’t jump off.

The tram door starts to swish closed.

“Wait!” I cry out in German. “Sorry!”

I barrage through the other passengers towards the door, trying not to catch anyone with my elbows. An elderly woman gives me daggers. I hop out into the slush, and the tram starts off without me.

It takes me a moment to orient myself, and then I’m off towards Jughead’s flat before I can talk myself out of it. As I approach the gate to his building, two rowdy girls are leaving and let me tailgate inside. I rush up the stairs, heart pounding and knock on the door to Jughead’s flat. Too late, I realise how out of breath I am. I should have waited a moment so I could recover...

Jughead opens the door. His eyes widen when he sees me, and for a moment I think perhaps he doesn’t recognise me and this whole thing has been a terrible mistake.

“Betty?”

“Hi,” I try to smile. My voice is breathy, which makes me sound nervous. Well, I am nervous, but...

“Hello?” he says, but it sounds more like a question than a statement.

“I was, um, in the neighbourhood – my friend’s New Year’s party is just around the block...” The faux-casual vibe isn’t going well for me at all. “And I just thought that I’d swing by...”

It’s only then, too late, that I realise that I can hear the sound of laughter coming from inside his flat. He’s not alone.

“Who is it?” calls a girl’s voice.

He is most _definitely_ not alone. I’m so stupid.

“I didn’t – um – I just thought...well, I... Happy New Year-”

I’m turning to go when a scrappy pre-teen girl with a mischievous fox-like face bounds to the door. I look at Jughead, bewildered.

The girl pulls Jughead to her and whispers something in his ear. He replies in German. “This is my friend. Betty.”

“ _Friend?”_ the girl gives him an inquiring look.

“Yeah, friend,” says Jughead, then glances at me.

“Is this...” I start in English, but switch to German to be more polite. I turn to the girl. “Are you Jughead’s sister?”

“Yeah. I’m JB. _Don’t_ call me Jellybean. That’s a nickname for friends only.”

“Sorry Betty, my little sister hasn’t yet learned about manners.”

“I’m _not_ little.” Then to me, “So Betty, are you Jughead’s girlfriend? Because he’s never mentioned you.”

“She’s not my girlfriend,” says Jughead, so quickly that it kills any last hope I might have had. He isn’t interested, that much is clear.

“Whatever,” says JB, clearly bored with the two of us. “Are you going to make her stand on the doorstep for the whole evening? Because I’d say _that’s_ pretty bad manners.”

“Do you want to come in?” Jughead asks me.

“Your family is here.”

“They’re only here because a smart girl I know told me not to shut them out,” he says.

“I wasn’t actually expecting you to listen to me. No one listens to unsolicited advice. I don’t want to get in the way.”

“Consider this your pre-drinks,” he says in English. “If you like?”

I follow him inside. He introduces me as a ‘friend’ to his dad, FP, a man with eyes so dark they’re almost black, and his step mother, Elisabeth, a willowy woman who’s easily the tallest person in the room. While Jughead is fixing me a glass of wine, his step mum asks me about how I’m enjoying my course and living in Vienna. It’s the kind of easy small talk that I can do without thinking. I sit awkwardly on the piano stool that Jughead cleared off for me, feeling like everyone in the room is wondering why I’m there.

JB dives onto the couch, clearly bored by the adults’ conversation. “How long do we have to stay here?”

“Simmer down, JB.” Jughead’s dad makes a half-hearted effort to tell her off.

“I want to get a good spot for the fireworks.”

While they’re busy bickering, I drop Kevin a quick message, telling him I’ve just stopped off to see a friend and will be with him soon. While I’m doing that, I remember the messages from Veronica. I type a quick response.

**Don’t worry about it, V. You know I could never be annoyed with you for doing what makes you happy. Speak soon?**

I quickly stow my phone away, my throat tight. Perhaps I haven’t completely forgiven Veronica, but I just can’t find it in me to keep being angry with her. I look up, and notice that Jughead is standing in the kitchen, looking over at me. As soon as he catches my eye, he quickly turns his head, and grabs a glass of wine. He crosses the room and hands it to me.

“There you go,” he says quietly.

Elisabeth looks between us. “You know, I think JB is right. We should be on our way or we’ll never get a good spot for the fireworks.”

“We’ve still got ages,” protests his dad.

Elisabeth gives FP an impatient look – her eyes flicking deliberately between Jughead and me . FP eventually seems to grasp her meaning.

“Yeah, definitely. We should go. Come on Jellybean.”

“I _told_ you not to call me that,” she sighs as Elisabeth swathes her with hats and scarves. “Juggie, will you give me a piggyback downstairs?”

“Jughead’s joining us later, aren’t you?” says his stepmom.

The back of my neck prickles in embarrassment, and I very deliberately avoid looking at Jughead. Elisabeth clearly thinks she’s doing us a favour, that we want to start kissing or something without parental supervision. She has no idea that I’ve already made an unfixable mess of everything.

Elisabeth ushers the other members of the family out to the door.

“Call us when you’re ready,” she says to Jughead. “We’ll let you know where to meet us.”

And then it’s just the two of us in the flat.

Jughead starts clearing up the wine glasses, He doesn’t look at me. Probably trying to figure out a way to get rid of me so he can go join his family. I might as well make it easy for him.

“I guess you’re wondering why I’m here?” I say.

He shrugs, guarded. “I don’t know.”

“It was a bit... I would have sent you a message but I didn’t have your number.”

“What were you going to say?”

Finally, he looks at me. I find I’m fiddling with the strap of my bag, and force myself to stop.

“Just... you know... Sorry?”

“What for? I should be apologising to you.”

“What? Why?”

“I shouldn’t have – you know – tried to kiss you. Rushed you, when you were going through all...that,” he waves his hand vaguely.

“But...I wanted you to,” I say, feeling like everything is just getting progressively worse.

“Really? Well...it sort of seemed like you didn’t,” he shrugs. “Which is fine.”

“Well...I wanted to apologise for running off like that and... You’ll want to be with your family, so I’ll get out of your way.”

I see Jughead’s mouth tilt. He almost looks disappointed. Unless maybe it’s relief that I’m finally leaving. 

I open the door, and it seems like so stupid to go now. Why am I trying to read his expression like tea leaves? I can’t know the truth without asking, which I don’t want to do...but I can’t leave without knowing. 

“Before I go – I just want to say – and then I’ll leave, I promise…” I swallow. “I did... I do really like you. I mean, I don’t know you that well, and you seem kind and interesting which really is an amazing combination. And I know I haven’t really given a good impression of me – but I promise you that I am mostly normal. I’ve just had a lot on my plate this Christmas.”

I pause, hoping that Jughead will chip in and save me from having to keep talking, but he doesn’t so I have no choice but to carry on.

“And I can’t really explain why I just freaked out like that, but it honestly wasn’t you.”

“Are you trying to make me feel better about it?”

“No – well, yes... What I mean is that sometimes it seems like an impossible choice. Either you can be lonely or you can risk your heart on someone and possibly still end up lonely. And it felt too difficult at the time, but then I realised that actually I was just scared and needed to get over myself.”

I pause for breath. Jughead is looking at me attentively, but he’s still not saying anything. I plough on, desperate for the finish line.

“I guess that’s all I wanted to say. And – well, sorry for taking up so much of your time.”

My hand is on the doorknob.

“Betty... Sorry. I feel like I could spend an hour trying to untangle what you just said – and by that time you’ll have gone and I won’t have time to chase after you. So is it ok if I just kiss you instead?”

“Yeah.”

He moves over to me, puts his hands on either side of my face. Then we kiss, and it’s petal-soft this time. He smiles, like he’s inviting me to share a conspiracy.

“What is it?” I ask.

He shrugs. I nudge him playfully.

“Tell me...” I say.

He laughs and puts an arm around my shoulders, drawing me to him. He kisses me again. “I have a feeling I’m not going to have any peace with you as my girlfriend. You never let things go, do you?”

“Never,” I steal another kiss.

“It’s just...this morning I didn’t think I was ever going to see you again. And now I can’t get rid of you.”

He leans in for a kiss, but I deliberately tilt my chin so he can’t reach my mouth. This leads to a scuffle between us. Jughead eventually wins, but only because he resorts to underhand tricks by tickling me.

Suddenly I freeze. “What time is it?”

He pulls his phone out of his jeans. “Oh – five minutes to go.”

“Do we have time to meet up with your family?”

“Realistically, no. But there’s always an alternative.”

He grabs my hand and pulls me out of the flat into the hallway, and up the stairs. “What are we...?”

“Three minutes.”

My heels are pinching and I’m out of breath. We’re both laughing, which makes it even harder to get enough oxygen. There are literally no more stairs to climb now, but Jughead finds a hidden door in the wall which looks like it leads to Narnia. Instead, it opens out onto the roof.

Jughead bounds out, and I lag behind.

“Come on.”

“You try running upstairs in these heels,” I say, exasperated.

Jughead half pulls me out onto the rooftop, and I fall silent. The city lights are laid before me like jewels strung together on a necklace. Before I can say anything, the fireworks start, with an almighty crash and a hundred bursts of colour.

Jughead’s hand finds mine, and I know he’s looking at me even before I turn my head towards him.

“So what do you think? Is the view alright?”

“Yes,” I rest my head on his shoulder. “The view is _spectacularly_ alright.”


End file.
